Bocca della Verita
by Zaxarus
Summary: A chance encounter in Rome started a life long friendship. Only Kate in this, plays 2y before season 1.
1. Chapter 1 Chance Encounter

_**Author's Note:**_

_This is my first try at a novel about Navy CIS (or any TV series at all). Perhaps I'll do some errors about the different executive organs (FBI, State Police, NCIS), how they interact etc. I hope you'll cope with that and enjoy the story nonetheless. This story will be somewhat AU but mostly follow the normal story line (apart from romances)._

_The story starts two years before the events of season 1._

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**Chance Encounter**

_Rome –Ponte Sant'Angelo – 8__th__ of July 2001 (Caitlin's POV)_

Breathing was a bit difficult with no shadows to hide and not the slightest breeze cooling my skin. I had hoped to find some relief on the Tiber Bridge but even here the air was deadly calm. Another group of Japanese tourists found its way behind my back, this one with yellow kepis. They followed their leader, an Italian student of arts I assumed, with a brightly colored parasol in her hand which she used to point towards the statues that lined the bridge on both sides.

I had stepped aside to the edge railing to avoid them and the harassing of their cameras. For a moment I mused about the number of photo shots that would show me. Then the student stopped, the tourists now successfully blocking my way, denying me any possibility to take flight. So I had to endure her awful English as she started to talk about Castel D'Angelo that was overlooking the bridge, its rotund structure being a very imposing sight with the statue of an angel on top that gave the building its name.

Allowing the student to enlighten the tourists with its babbling about the structure, that it had been the mausoleum of Hadrian and how the Vatican used it for a time as a fortress, I turned to the water below. Slowly it went under the bridge, the sunlight glittering on its surface and veiling the grime and mud in the water. Some boats and a handful of small ships were on the Tiber, built of exactly the height and width to allow them to cross the bridge. Perhaps I should use one of them in the evening. One of the older agents who had been in Rome seven years ago told me how wonderful the lite-cruise on the Tiber had been. Not that I was a very romantic type or expected to see many lights at the buildings around before I had to go back.

The last days had been very arduous. With a dozen other agents I belonged to William – never Bill or Willy – Baer's advance unit, sent to Rome to prepare the stay of our Secretary of State, Mr. Colin Powell. He would stay in Rome for a workshop with his colleagues from France, England and the other countries before the official G8-meeting will begin in two weeks. The heads of state would meet in Genua but at least these days I would experience Rome, the immortal city.

We had arrived five days ago and this afternoon and early evening would be my first real spare time, the first moment to allow me to move slowly, deliberately. At least for a few hours Baer's eyes would not linger on me, his brain would not use any opportunity to criticize and scorn my actions. More than once in these past days I had wondered if he hated every young woman or if it was only me. After the second team's arrival he had announced that we would have some leisure, but it hadn't been before I left the area that I allowed me to believe it.

With the gurgling below and the babbling behind I sighed deeply as I sensed the touches of the sun on my skin. I had chosen some airy garment, needing a change to the dark suit of clothes I normally wore irrespective of the temperature. I had learned the hard way how to survive hours and hours standing still in blazing heat without losing consciousness but this didn't mean that I had to like it or endure it if I had a choice.

In that moment I sensed the eyes that lingered on me. Perhaps it was my training as an agent of the Secret Service; perhaps it was the simple fact that I had endured more than one look of desire from my colleagues in the last days. The heat obviously had done some bad to their nerves and level of hormones. I suppressed the urge to immediately spin around and instead behaved normally, turning my gaze here and there until my eyes met hers at last.

The first I saw of her was a large beige sun hat with a dark brown hatband and a sunflower fixed to it. Shoulder-length fire-red hair framed a face that was nearly invisible under the shadow of her hat brim. She wore a long-sleeved cotton tee, formerly yellow but now very washed out with an unreadable logo on it, a simple light blue jeans and more or less white canvas shoes without socks. _Tall_ was my first notion. She was sitting on a chair, her hands holding a sketch block and … wait, what?

I blinked heavily but there couldn't be a mistake: she was obviously drawing something on that block with the charcoal in her surprising slender left hand. And even so obviously it was me that seemed to be her … inspiration. She lifted her head a bit and I saw her pleasant smile in response to my blushing cheeks. For a minute I stood still, pondering about how to react, using the time to take in the picture in front of me. She had an alabaster skin, certainly not well suitable for the Mediterranean sun and perhaps the reason for her choice of top. The shoulder as well as the rest of her frame told about some sports activity, perhaps swimming or rowing. Her height was difficult to estimate but certainly she was at least a handbreadth taller than me.

Beside her worn chair stood a little scaffold and a case with further sketch blocks and caskets for other materials as well as a Thermos flask and a few cups. As I started to move she simply raised her hand with the charcoal. Somewhat fascinated like a rabbit in front of a snake I stared at the hand and stopped. Another smile, open, thankful for my patience, she showed and turned back to her block. Unused to this kind of attention I awaited her allowance to move again. Slowly my feet went a bit numb and my legs ached as they urged me to move them around. But I endured it, fascinated that this time it wasn't me with the sketch block. Not that I had much opportunity to use my own in the last months. Too much work and apparently sketching was … improper for an active agent.

"Thank you for your patience," her voice startled me. Caught in my daydreams I had missed that she had finished and passed the distance to me. Her voice was dark and full, pleasant to hear and lulling to relax. I had no problems to imagine me resting on a bed with her reading something aloud for me.

I reciprocated her smile and pointed towards the block. "May I see the sketch?"

For a moment she hesitated, her smile weakening as she looked at it. But then she handed me the block. "I like to do sketches very much. But it is only a hobby. I'm not really good at it," she apologized.

It was a real sketch, perhaps some points of my face too accentuated but all in all natural, unlike the more humorous sketches I often did. I had seen better ones, yes. And there were some errors in the proportions and the sight lines of bridge and the background. But I liked how she captured the moment, my face, my emotions and even the uneasiness to stand still. "I like it, very much actually."

Her shoulders relaxed, a small sigh escaped her throat and now it was her turn to blush. "If you like I would give it to you." On my nod she walked back, loosened the sheet from the block carefully, made a roll from it and put it in a case. "Here it is."

I accepted the case, pondering how to react. What would be an appropriate response? She seemed not to be a paid sketcher as some others on the bridge, selling her abilities to the tourists. So money was beyond debate. Then I remembered …

"There is an ice-cream parlor at the end of the bridge. May I invite you as a small reward for the sketch?" My words caused her to smile broadly, her open joy instantly proving me that I made the right decision.

"That would be great." Turning around to an older dark-skinned painter near her scaffold she started to speak Italian very rapidly, pointing to her belongings until the painter answered with a smile and a nod. She fetched her purse, waved him farewell and linked arms with me, startling me a bit until she soothed me with another smile. As we started to cross the bridge her eyes went down and for a moment another blush appeared on my face as I realized that she had a real good look into my cleavage. But before I had the chance to think about it, she let loose and began to rummage thru her purse.

"You're too careless," she censured me, pressing a tube après-sun into my hand. "You should use more sun milk for the first days even with your skin not as delicate as mine." To make a point she pressed the tip of her index finger on a place next to the spaghetti strap of my dress and instantly a wave of pain shot thru my shoulder. "Don't be such a sissy," she commented my flinching, but her smile took the edge of her words. "Err … thanks … I think." I smiled back. "By the way I'm Caitlin T…" she interrupted me with a gesture. "Caitlin will be enough. No surname, no hometown … we're simply two American beauties in Rome. My name is Tamara but never call me Tam or Tammy if you appreciate an unbroken nose." Somehow I had no doubts about that.

I nodded, relieved to hear this from her, even with me being more prepared to speak about my family than my job. A bit distracted I opened the tube and started to rub the milk onto my arms as I felt me dragged to the bridge's railing. Looking up I saw a smirk on her lips. She took the tube, shoved some milk on her hands and started to rub it onto my skin, starting with my hands and going up to my shoulders, pushing the straps aside to reach every point before she turned me around and worked my upper back. There was nothing erotic in her moves but nonetheless I had to force my breath to stay even.

As I thought her to be finished her hands gripped my waist with surprising strength and lifted me to sit on the railing. I felt like a child as she took my hand and poured some milk on it. "Your cleavage you should rub yourself … unless you're adamant otherwise." Her words and the nearness of her body caused small shivers on my back. _Kate, you're catholic, you can't have such thoughts_.

As if answering to my thoughts Tamara grinned broadly and grabbed my ankle, lifting my foot to put the shoe away before she began to rub the milk on my foot and leg, following with the other one while I sat there dumb-folded with the milk for my cleavage still in my hand. She pointed towards it: "You should use it before it runs down on your dress." Wordlessly I nodded and followed her advice, listening to her humming a melody that was unknown to me. At last Tamara seemed to be content and put my shoes on my feet again before she grabbed my waist and pulled me from the railing. For some seconds … too long to be solely coincidence … she held my body against her own before she set me down.

"Ready we are … the ice-cream is waiting," she tried to relax the situation. This time she didn't link arms again but waited for me to walk beside her. Had she realized my uneasiness? It seemed this way, because more than once in the following time I saw her stop a move that would lead to our skins touching again.

As we reached the shop she played the attentive gentleman, helping me on a chair and ordering two cups of ice. Normally I would have opposed someone to choose for me but I liked to hear her voice. "You seem to speak Italian very fluent, Tamara."

"Not so, I must confess, Caitlin. I had an Italian nanny for a few years and she tried to teach me her language. And I used the last weeks to practice. But it is still only enough for simple things, not sufficient for difficult conversations."

"That's way more than I could do. And you may call me Kate, Tamara."

To my surprise she shook her head. "No way could I do that. Why should I shorten such a wonderful name? Caitlin, the 'pure beauty' it is and nothing else."

How many times I had blushed in the last hour? I had lost count. "And your name, what does Tamara mean?"

"It is a name used in Israel and Egypt. My parents made a voyage on the Nile before my birth and chose Tamara for me. It means 'She who loves the land'. Despite being Egyptian I think it is a very Irish name, don't you agree?" This I did.


	2. Chapter 2 Open Words

_**Author's Note:**_

_Please don't expect much action in this story. It is meant to introduce my little sidekick character, Dr. Tamara Moore. I plan to write a whole series of little stories about the NCIS Team spanning at least the time from season 1 to season 5 (Jeanny Shepard's death) so this story is more likely to be a prologue._

_Little Shadow Girl: Thank you for the preview. I'm sometimes still struggling with the syntax and especially the correct use of phrasal verbs (run after, care for etc.). I hope I'll do better in the future._

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**Open Words**

_Rome –near Ponte Sant'Angelo – 8__th__ of July 2001 (Caitlin's POV)_

Silently I spooned my ice-cream. The large amount of Amarena cherries, a hint of alcohol and a glob of cream on top combined to a wonderful sensation and I wondered how Tamara could have been able to assume my taste so well. It was a wonderful feeling to relax with none of my colleagues around. Not that they were an awful bunch. Quite contrary most of them were nice to work with. But always the point of my gender lurked in the background. It didn't help that at least one of the points that I had been chosen to be part of this team had been my appearance. I knew how I looked and I understood that the people I usually protected preferred to have broad-shoulder guys and beautiful girls around as bodyguards. But I would have preferred to be chosen for my intellect and reflexes, not the perspective of my ass.

Quota woman: that it was how I felt sometimes. William Baer more than once pointed out that he hadn't chosen me otherwise, that I was still too young for a position in his team. A small sigh escaped me as I thought about the coming months. If all went well I would be given a position in the team responsible for the Air Force One. A big step in my career it would be. But standing in the open was likewise an invitation for critic and scorn.

To distract me from my dark thoughts I smiled at Tamara who had been looking at me for a while in silence. "Are you studying in Rome, Tamara, arts perhaps?"

She put her hat on the chair to her left and shook her head, her fire-red mane flying wildly. "No, I just finished my studies and it hadn't been arts. My father never would have paid for it." Tamara squared her shoulders and dropped her voice an octave as she rumbled on: "Child, arts are good for hobby and distraction on weekends. But studies should be about something meaningful, something usable for work. And before you ask, lass: sketching isn't a real job."

She smiled shortly, her face a bit uneasy. "So I had to go for something useful, useful in his opinion." Without explaining what her studies had been about she continued after a while. "My uncle paid this trip as a present for my degree. It was a golden opportunity because my mentor invited me to join him and a few others to visit Rome for a … symposium, kind of."

"Oh, that sounds wonderful. You must have been a very special student to do so." Shortly I wondered what I had missed, where I had wronged, because her face darkened. Before I could ask she explained.

"So to say, yes." She poked in her ice-cup for a few moments before she went on. "There had been rumors in the university … rumors about him and me. They called me his prize mare." My breath faltered, my eyes widened, but Tamara shrugged. Only her voice betrayed her inner turmoil. "Others denied that, but their 'compliment' was hardly meant as such, calling me 'workhorse'. It was meant more as a reference to my stature than to my zeal."

"Err … what do you mean?" She surely couldn't think …

Tamara blushed. "You know: large, broad-shouldered, strong legs and at all not very feminine."

I gasped. "Dorks they are. And you're a moron if you think of yourself otherwise than beautiful." She smiled weakly and flinched a tad as I padded her hand but didn't pull away. "Prize mare … work horse … if I ever would compare you to a horse it would be a bronco or an Arabian thoroughbred. You're all air and fire; there is nothing earthbound about you."

Now she relaxed more, her smile broadened. "You're too kind, Caitlin. You're a good girl." Hesitating for a moment she continued. "I could be wrong but you're exactly that, aren't you: one of the good girls?" Realizing my confusion she explained: "No, I'm not speaking about your morals or your Christly uprising … you're a catholic as I, aren't you?" I simply nodded.

"I spoke about your profession. Protect and serve is your motto, isn't it?" I paled thoroughly, only starting to breathe again as she squeezed my hand. "It is something about how you move and especially how you look around, always looking for trouble, always searching for danger and watching how the people around you move and behave."

_How could this be? Had our encounter been something other than pure chance_? Wild ideas crossed my mind, ideas about her being send by 'the enemy' or – more likely – as a test by William Baer. Tamara stared intensely at me, slowly shaking her beautiful head. "No, I'm not kind of test and certainly not your enemy." My paleness intensified as I wondered if I had spoken loudly. "I'm only good at … interpreting facial expressions and stance."

Locking her eyes with mine she stayed silent for a long time before obviously an idea crossed her mind. She stood up and grabbed my hand, pulling me after her, ignoring my complaints and resistance. "I prove it to you."

My mind raced as I followed her, unable to break her grip. She never left the area near the Tiber but I had no idea of her destination. After a while the sight of a tall, slender and rectangular turret came into view and shortly after we stopped in front of a small church. "This is the church Santa Maria in Cosmedin," she curtly explained before entering the church. In the portico someone had erected a stone slab, a kind of wheel two yards in diameter with a simple face on it. Eyes, nostrils and mouth were deep holes and a hint of mane framed the face. It seemed to be very old, perhaps even stemming from old Rome.

Her expression now way more solemn she gently caressed the edge of the stone slab. Her voice was caring and awestruck as Tamara explained: "This is the Bocca della Verita, the Mouth of Truth. It had been found three hundred years ago and placed in this church. According to the legends the Bocca is able to tell truth from lie. If you put your hand in the mouth and tell a lie, the mouth will bite your hand of."

For a moment a felt the urge to smile or make a joke but a single glance in her eyes told me that at least to her this was nothing playful, nothing to be disrespectful about. So I stayed silent as Tamara took some deep breaths and placed her left hand, that hand she used for sketching, into the mouth. She started to speak, hesitantly at first but getting firmer by the word.

"I, Tamara Moore, in the face of god, swear to be completely honest now. My meeting with Caitlin had been by chance alone … even if by a very lucky chance," she smiled softly before she proceeded. "I'm no test or danger to her but only staying because she is such an extraordinary, intelligent and beautiful woman and I would like to spend some hours with her."

She awaited my reaction, her stance unsecure and her eyes asking. As I grabbed her hand and gently pulled it away from the mouth, holding on it as I responded, I sensed a small quiver before she relaxed. "I believe you, Tamara, and I'm sorry that I had doubts for a moment. My work is not very easy and it influences my thoughts. That you were able to read me so easily was … troubling." She smiled at me and nodded as I asked: "Would you like to go somewhere else? I'm eager to do something more cheerful."

As promised the next hours had been more relaxed. Tamara dragged me around, showing me bridges, places, small shops and inns all over Rome, many of them very Italian and 'un-touristic'. She even tried – after we reached her favorite Italian – to explain the differences between northern and southern Italian cuisine and how most restaurants made an awful mix of them and tempered with the flavor to get something that tourists expected to be 'real Italian'.

For a moment I wondered why she ordered such a grand table for us but after a long, fast talked conversation with the waiter the place began to be filled with all kind of plates and dishes. Fish and seafood of all varieties, flesh from chicken, goat and mutton, a dozen different types of vegetables and four tureens with pasta were served together with several bottles of wine, port and sherry. With wide eyes I stared at this, wondering how to begin. But as I reached out for something I noticed her chiding look.

"What about the grace, Caitlin? Certainly you won't forget that?"

I shouldn't have been surprised about this. But I certainly was touched. More often than not I had got funny looks speaking about my belief and so her reaction was a more than welcome change. Folding my hands I started: "We thank you for this wonderful moment, for the company we share and this delicious meal. Thank you for all your gifts and help us so that we always may appreciate them now and forever."

Tamara smiled and pressed my hand: "That as very sweet, Caitlin." With a mischievous grin she added: "And bear in mind: Not bites but nibbles, else even he may not be willing to spar you an attack of indigestion."

It was two hours later and already darkness descending as we left the restaurant, my stomach filled to the fullest, my brain a bit fuddled from the wine. Slowly we walked towards the Tiber with only a short stop at a florist where she bought a single orange tulip for me. It meant something special, that I was sure about. But my brain didn't allow me to grasp what it could be and she evaded the question, instead dragging me to a small boat. Leaning against a lamppost I listened to her beautiful voice as she negotiated with the rower about a voyage upstream to a landing stage near the embassy. My heart executed a little jump: I would get my candle-cruise … in a way at least.

Sitting down in the boat she offered me the place beside her. I didn't flinch very much as she laid her arm around my shoulders and hugged me, placing a blanket around our backs as our dresses, especially mine, was not suited for the chill of evening. Slowly the boat followed the river, buildings on both sides spending a hint of light on the dark river. But way too fast for my liking the landing stage came into sight.

As decided some hours ago we exchanged no mail addresses, no handy numbers and made no appointments for the future. We simply embraced us for a last time and she kissed me on the cheek before I left, clenching the tulip in my hand and not daring to look back where she stood at the boat, following me with her caring eyes.


	3. Chapter 3 Dreams and Reality

_**Author's note:**_

_The first paragraph contains some femme-slash. If you don't like that, ignore the paragraph and go on with the second part. By the way: it is my first try at such a description. I hope it is not too bad. _

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**Dreams and Reality**

_Rome – American Embassy – 18__th__ of July 2001 (Caitlin's POV)_

I awoke from the grasp around my wrists and the clicking of handcuffs. Instinctively I tried to move as I opened my eyes but to no avail. My hands were securely fastened to the bed frame.

"Shhh, darling, don't panic," her dark full voice sent chills down my spine and her soft hand of my cheek caused goose bumbs on my skin. Her loose red mane gave her a wild look and her eyes were a bit dilated and dark with desire. For a second the tip of her tongue licked her lower lip as her glance glowered over my helpless body.

"I'm here to collect a debt, sweetheart. And you'll pay full and with interest." Her right hand started to unbutton my jacket and my eyes widened in panic as she lifted her left arm, her hand replaced by a metallic hook sharpened to a blade. Tamara lowered her hand and the blade tore thru my shirt, baring my stomach. With feather-light fingers she caressed my skin, tickling my sides and tracing the edge of my pants. A predatory smile on her lips she lifted the strap of my bra and cut thru, shoved the rest aside and her hungry eyes roamed over my breasts.

Before I could raise a protest she lowered her head and kissed me, plundered my lips with passion, forced her tongue into my mouth. Her right hand reached for my breasts, massaged them shortly before her finger tips pinched my nipple, twisted it and hardened it within seconds. I couldn't stop the moan I breathed into her mouth and sensed disappointment as her lips left mine. But it was instantly superseded by the sensation of her mouth moving over my body as she kissed my collarbone, my shoulders and slowly went down to my breast while her hand caressed my side. Slowly the tip of her tongue circled my nipple, licked softly on it before her teeth took a gentle bit on my nipple's tip.

A groan left my lips and shivers went down my body. "No, please," I whispered as her hand went to my pants, opening the belt and unbuttoning my jeans. I blushed deeply as I thought about the sight my hips would be: aroused, with swollen lips and dripping wetness with desire. But Tamara showed no mercy and pulled my pants and panties down full length to my ankles and freed my feet, throwing them away before her hand started to move over my naked legs. The touch of her hand on the inner side of my thigh deepened my lust, only the more because thru the handcuffs I was unable to see what she did.

Tamara switched position, went from my side to my legs, shoved them apart, gently but determined. Seconds later a first kiss was pressed on my foot, followed by one after the other as she traced my leg. Softly her lips touched the hollow of my knee before she went to my thigh, slowly nearing my core, forcing me to follow my desire as I lifted my hips to allow her better access. She responded with a giggle and teased with a husky voice: "A naughty girl we are?"

Not waiting for an answer she dipped between my thighs and a second later the sensation of her tongue on my lower lips, gently licking my wetness, caused my whole body to stiffen. She parted the lips with her fingers, started to sweep the whole length with her tongue, causing a series of further helpless moans from me. "Tamara, please free me." I nearly didn't recognize my own voice but she only stopped to raise her head, switching back to my side before she pressed her mouth on mine. I tasted my own flavor from her lips. My body stiffened as she pressed a finger against my core. For a moment Tamara stopped all movement, looked into my eyes; watched for the signs of desire. And then she pressed the tip of her finger into my body.

I closed my eyes, gave my body to the feeling of her fingers; sensed nothing else in that moment. So her voice came as a shock, the words hitting me like a bucket of ice-water. "I think she is ready now, ready for you."

I opened my eyes wide, followed her stare to the side of the room. There, until now silently sitting on a chair, waited William Baer, a broad smirk showing under his bald head. Slowly he rose and stepped forward while Tamara left my side. "Have fun," were her parting words.

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With a cry I awakened, my body trembling. I needed some minutes to realize that it all had been a dream, all at least aside from my very real arousal. Blushing deeply I discerned that I would have to use another pajama next night and the chambermaid would have to change the bedclothes with the linen wet from sweat and … other fluids.

My body feeling sore and exhausted, my mind likewise troubled and confused, I went to the bath to take a very long shower. What kind of dream had that been? Where the idea came from? A sex dream, about a woman at that and from one I had only seen one afternoon on top that. I couldn't deny that I had been aroused and it ashamed me more than a bit. The cold water rushed down my body, my head leaning against the wall as I tried hard to gather my nerves again.

It was so unfair, unfair to think this about her. Certainly, in the beginning Tamara had been flirting with me. But she had stopped as she saw my uneasiness. Knowing me to be catholic she would have known my inner turmoil about any female advances. Her shy farewell kiss had surely not been meant to cause this kind of dreams. And how could I fancy her to deceive me in this way, to betray me, to lose her hand to the Bocca della Verita, to cooperate with my superior? This all was so very wrong.

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An hour later I was presentable again. But my mind was not. Walking down to the breakfast room I reflected the last days. Ten days had passed since I met Tamara, ten days I hadn't seen any sign of her. Most of them had been very painstaking. The single free afternoon three days ago my feet involuntary draw me to the bridge, but she hadn't been there, causing likewise disappointment and relief in me. Coming back to the embassy I pondered about looking into our files, to search for 'Tamara Moore', but I hesitated. 'No surnames, no hometown', she had said, hadn't exchanged telephone number or mail addresses. Obviously she wanted this encounter to be something onetime. Perhaps she already left Rome again as we never spoke about how long she would stay here.

A bit I hoped she would have left some days ago because Rome hadn't been nice. With the official G8-meeting nearing – the heads of state would meet in Genua in four days and we would go there the day after tomorrow – the demonstrations had increased and there even had been some rotten egg attacks. It wasn't really nice from me but I felt some gladness that the Italians obviously liked to target my tall, broad-shouldered colleagues much more than to harass me. Perhaps it had only been a rest of chivalric attitude. At least quite a number of the male agents had been hit but my outfit stayed unblemished.

Yesterday the Secretary of State Colin Powell had left for Washington and the mood relaxed at least for a while, with many demonstrators going for Genua. Today we would prepare our leave, tomorrow I would have a day on my own and then …

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Loud voices interrupted my reasoning. The male I recognized as belonging to Matthew Tembril, the 'security adviser' of the embassy. It was nothing else than a polite euphemism for CIA but normally we avoided this term. But it was the other voice, the female one, which caused chills along my spine.

"It makes no difference to me what you think, Mr. Tembril," her pleasant voice was a bit shrill in the moment. "I'll stay in Rome for another week as planned and only then I'll leave."

The look on his face reminded me of an irritated elementary teacher and he seemed to be relieved for the distraction my presence caused. As he stopped to speak his conversation partner realized that there was something amiss and turned around. Beautiful in her agitation, sensual in her ire, the pictures of my dream came back into my mind and I felt my cheeks blushing. Tamara shook her head, hinting me not to take part of this discussion but it was already too late.

"Ah, Agent Todd, may I be of any help?" Looking from me to Tamara and back again he continued with a hint of curiosity in his voice: "Do you know Dr. Moore?"

I nodded silently, staring intensely at her and saving some moments to gather my nerves and my voice again. "I met her … she is a friend of mine. Are there any problems, Mr. Tembril?" I tried hard to sound determined and steady.

"Nothing too grave, I assure you. Dr. Moore had a small … interaction with the Italian police. They are willing to drop the charges for assault against a police officer and obstructing an officer in the performance of his duties, but only if she leaves Rome. I think this to be the best solution but Dr. Moore is quite intractable." He showed a small smile while Tamara uttered a deep growl.

"As I already stated: I've one week left of my holidays and I don't intend to quit previously. And with the demonstrators leaving Rome for Genua the situation shouldn't repeat itself by the way."

My mind raced. So Tamara somehow had participated in the demonstrations, perhaps she even had been one of the egg-throwers. This I had never expected from her. But on the other side I knew how she loved to be here and I felt pity. "Mr. Tembril, I'm sure that Dr. Moore" – Doctor she was, what kind of I pondered shortly – "won't make any fuss in the next days. Certainly someone as you is able to delay her departure for some days, especially if Dr. Moore promises not to go to Genua but stay in Rome."

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"Thank you, Caitlin. " We were seating in the breakfast room, sipping a cup of coffee. "You shouldn't participate in this. I didn't want to start any problems for you."

I padded her hand, the image of that hand caressing my breast causing goose bumbs on my skin. "It was nothing." Trying to lighten the mood and distract from my reaction I continued: "I only never expected you to be kind of wild hippie anti-state demonstrator."

Tamara instantly pulled back her hand, anger showing in her face and hurt in her voice. "I'm nothing of that. This incident will certainly follow my acts for years to come. At least I would have expected from you to ask before you jump to conclusions."

As she rose I grabbed her forearm to stop her, causing a wince of pain. Only now I saw the edges of black and blue marks there. And the movement for a moment unveiled a spot under her hair locks where a bruise had been stitched. "I'm sorry, Tamara, please stay." For some seconds I expected her to leave nonetheless but with a sigh she took seat again.

With a low voice she started to tell. "It had been two days ago. More than once I had circumvented a demonstration, unwilling to be part of them. But then I came to a place where the bulk of demonstrators already left. They had been expelled by a large number of policemen. With water cannons, riot sticks and rubber bullets they had advanced. Obviously after the little speech Mr. Powell gave a few days ago about the incompetence of the roman police they wanted to show force."

Shortly she stayed silent and I realized that pictures of those events now crossed her mind. "Dozens of wounded were on the ground, the police dragging them into prisoner transporters. For a while they left me alone, certainly more because I obviously didn't belong to the demonstrators. But then I saw some heavily wounded and … I wanted to help. There was some young guy … a horse of the mounted police obviously had stepped on him when he already was on the ground. A hit to the head caused his unconsciousness and a wound on his chest from the horse-kick seemed very serious to me. I started to care for him, didn't allow them to carry him away without medical assistance. They didn't agree, only wanted to drag them away and to create space for some car convoy that already waited. The time of some politicians and their reputation was more important to them than the health of these young Romans."

I had heard of these problems, of clashes between police and demonstrators. But to listen to Tamara … that was quite troubling. "I didn't allow it. I … pushed them away … knocked one of them out." For a moment she blushed quite nice; then she sighed. "But to no avail. In the end I landed in the transporter together with the demonstrators." A weak smile showed on her face. ""At least this way I was able to continue to treat their wounds."

.

A bit sad, a bit hopeful I watched Tamara leave the embassy. We had agreed to spend the next day together. I really hoped to let her forget these events for a few hours. And I certainly enjoyed the prospect to see her again. I only hoped that my dream wouldn't recur tonight.


	4. Chapter 4 Unveiled

**Unveiled**

_Metro Station Piramide – Rome – Midmorning 19th July 2001 (Caitlin's POV)_

As ordered by Tamara I had started the day with an extensive brunch. Now I was waiting at this station with a mostly empty bag – another order from my demanding mistress. For a moment a lopsided sneer crossed my lips and I wondered since when I allowed others to make decisions for me like this. And I had no idea what she planned for today.

More than once I had to scare away a too bothersome man. To stand around in this place somehow seemed to invite more interest than I liked. With a deep sigh and a broad smile I responded to the appearance of Tamara. She wore the same hat as on our first meeting and the same comfortable pair of shoes. But her body this time was veiled by a wraparound in a pattern of black and anthracite waves. I liked it very much and obviously my face showed that, because Tamara's smile broadened as she realized my gaping mouth.

"Do you see anything you like?" She giggled shortly and relaxed the situation with a playful tap of her hand on the tip of my nose. "Come on." The rest of some bruises were visible on her arm but at least they didn't seem to hurt very much now, because she linked arms and tore me towards the metro.

"Will you now explain what our destination will be? And next time please come punctually. I never had so many … invitations … in such a short time."

"I couldn't blame them for trying." She responded friendly, her eyes roaming freely over my body. I lowered my head to veil my blush, but she seemed to realize this and gave me a kick with her elbow into my side. At least I hadn't again an erotic dream about her. To have her so close after dreaming about her mouth with her full sensual red lips … hastily I ripped my eyes off her face and concentrated on the way. Without explanation we took a metro to Roma Porta S. Paolo where we switched to another one and reached Ostia Lido Center a while later.

"Here we are," Tamara stated, whirling around and pointing to the shops surrounding us.

"We're doing a shopping tour," I asked a bit disappointed? Certainly I was woman enough to enjoy a shopping tour, especially with another woman and one with her good taste on top, but …

"Kind of, yes," she agreed. "But it is only the first step, but a very important one." With that she dragged me towards a shop she seemed to know very well. Confidently she dragged me thru the corridors and towards an area at the back. With wonder I looked around. "Swimsuits, Bikinis," I asked? Slowly I dawned on me. "You want to go swimming? What a splendid idea. But … you should have said. I've a swimming suit in my room and certainly a bath towel would be helpful."

"No way," she denied. "Buying a swimsuit is half the fun and every good tourist needs his very special and unique Rome towel as a memento."

For a while we rummaged thru the swimsuits and bikinis with much giggling, exchanging about the amount of material or lack thereof, about the style, fitting and color. Once – as I was just wondering about a dark blue one-piece suit – I looked towards her and gasped as I saw the minikini in her hands, a wicked smile on her lips. "No, by no means I'll wear that. "

To my relief she shook her head. "Don't be silly. I would never allow you to wear something like this." There it was again, this confident demeanor, knowing that she could order me around, concurrent confining and reassuring. In a man I would never tolerate this kind of behavior, but with her it seemed so natural. And certainly it was her way to show me that she cared about me_. I would never allow you to wear this_. Somehow I knew that she said it because she didn't want to share the view. "I thought about buying this for my sister. I could wrap it for Christmas and then enjoy her deep purple blushing."

"You're a bad girl, Dr. Tamara Moore." I scolded her, but she only blinked open-heartedly. "And I didn't know that you have a sister."

Her face softened as she stored the minikini away. "Her name is Heather; she is two years my junior but already married with twin daughters. The cutest girls you've ever seen."

"I've a sister too. Her name is Rachel." My expression was a bit uneasy obviously because Tamara stayed silent and watched me intensely. "She is a shrink and we don't get along very well." For a moment a hint of sadness I couldn't explain crossed her face but within seconds she relaxed again. "Enough of our families, let's buy this splendid swimsuit and madden all men on the beach … and quite a few women," she added with a low voice.

.

"This beach is … I don't know what to say." I looked around and stared in wonder. Tamara watched me with a pleased smile on her face.

"It is normally not open to tourists but only to the inhabitants of this village. Tourists have to stay over there." She pointed at another part of the beach we had passed a few minutes ago, where tourists from all Europe tried to find some recreation packed like sardines. "But I met one of the dignitaries two weeks ago and he allowed me to use it. I've only been here once. I hope you'll enjoy it."

I only nodded, staring at the crystal clear water, sensing the powdery white sand with my bare feet. "We should use that spot." Tamara walked towards a part of the beach further away with a small cliff spending a bit of shadow. "So we may switch between open sun and shadow." I agreed and we started to spread our bathing towels, mine brand-new with a picture of the mausoleum on it, Tamara's a bit more used showing a Gondoliers. Noticing my look she explained: "Before we started our 'hard work' at the symposium, my group went to Venice for three days. I have to admit that I didn't really like the city: too many tourists, percentage even more than in Rome."

I tried to lengthen the conversation, to delay the next part of the day, the unveiling. Sooner or later we would have to undress and with that there would be the part again of rubbing with sun-milk. Her gentle hands would again touch my skin and I really didn't know for sure if I would be able to suppress any reactions. But after a while Tamara began to put away her wrap-around. My eyes followed her every move, relishing the slightest part of her skin she exposed. Then she turned around and I could only stare. Several times I harrumphed intensely before I trusted my voice to sound halfway secure: "You're pregnant." My statement was concurrent relieved and disappointed. Surely my disappointment shocked me more but I tried hard to look happy.

Her hand rubbed her stomach gently; her eyes looked very softly at the bulge. "Yes, I am. Twenty-second week, the physician told me. Before the year ends there will be a little … a little girl."

Her voice was so full of emotion, I couldn't feel disappointed anymore, disappointed about her being straight and in a relationship. "So you already know that it will be a girl. Do you have chosen a name?"

She stared back intensely and stayed silent for a while. I already wondered if she would answer my question. "I have been pondering about that for the last months, but now I have chosen one, a very beautiful one."

With that she went silent again. "And … do you want to share?"

Tamara shook her head softly. "Sorry, but I can't say. Perhaps you'll laugh about it but I'm a bit … superstitious. To say her name before her birth would invite disaster."

I had the impression that this wasn't the only reason but I stayed calm. At least I had something to think about as we started the sun-milk rubbing and without incident we finished it. The day on the beach could begin.

.

_Rome – American Embassy – 20__th__ of July 2001 (Caitlin's POV)_

The day had been a very pleasant one. With me now knowing about Tamara's familiar background I had been more relaxed, our touches in the water more playful than expected at the morning. How could it be that these times always passed so fast? I could have endured this to go on for hours and days and weeks.

With a sad smile I stared at the CD in my hands. With almost all my belongings packed only her presents were left to be stored away. After the day at the beach, after our return to the landing stage near the embassy, Tamara had given them to me. That she wasn't disappointed to get nothing in return didn't lighten my mood. How could I be so … I winced? About the band Nightwish I hadn't heard before and for a while I had wondered why Tamara had given me the CD 'Oceanborn'. But a single hearing solved this puzzle.

_I wish for this night-time to last for a life-time_. I was deeply moved that Tamara obviously shared my emotion. Involuntarily my fingers touched my mouth. The kiss we shared in the evening, on the side of the mouth, more to the cheek than to the lips, had been soft and tender. It hadn't been a surprise for me after that to experience another erotic dream about her. But this time our parting would be final. Today I would leave for Genua and in a few days Tamara would go back to … wherever she lived. It wouldn't be a problem to find her if I really wanted. Knowing her full name now and Mr. Tembril certainly informed about her background … but we had chosen not to see us again, to have this as a memory.

Softly my hand grabbed the second present.

"_A box," I wondered? "It is teak wood, isn't it?" My hand caressed the box the size of a cigar case. The picture of an orange tulip was painted on the lid. I tried to open the case. "It is locked," I wondered. Tamara smiled and lifted her arm. A thin chain she wore with a simple key dangling on it. "I know it is a very simple lock, Caitlin. But I expect you to not open it before we somehow meet again."_

"_And if we …" I gulped, unwilling to speak out for loud my fear that this parting would be final. But Tamara softly shook her head._

"_One meeting may be coincidence. But our second meeting was fate, a promise for more … somewhere at another time. But you can't press fate; you have to give it time." She smiled weakly. "And if I'm simply nuts again … you're allowed to open it in 25 years."_

With a sigh I put the case in my bag and with a last look around I left the room. Undying city, undying dreams … I hope that sometime you'll fulfill your promise.

.

.  
_I wish for this night-time to last for a life-time  
The darkness around me - shores of a solar sea  
Oh how I wish to go down with the sun  
Sleeping  
Weeping  
With you_

_(Refrain of Sleeping Sun, Nightwish, 1998)_

_._

_**A/N:**_

_To my perpetual regret I don't own the band Nightwish (or NCIS)._

_For those who wonder: an orange tulip expresses fascination with the receiver of the flower._


	5. Chapter 5 She will never know

**She will never know**

_Caitlin's flat – Washington DC – 8th of July 2002 (Caitlin's POV)_

It had been a long day again, far too long to be exactly. Days as this had been the reason that I had almost no friends outside the USSS and from the small number that remained I hadn't seen any for at least three weeks. No wonder that I had started to date my co-worker Major Timothy Kerry. Until now nothing had 'happened', partly because I wasn't sure if I really wanted to jeopardize my job with this affair. But my last relationship had been a very long time ago and doubtless I wasn't the type for one-night-stands.

Certainly I wasn't lacking in proposals from my colleagues since I joined the team one year ago and as far as I knew even my boss William Bear normally had no qualms about such affairs if they maintained a low profile, occurred only once and didn't disturb the daily routine. But since Rome I had stayed on his 'black list' of agents to be under observation. I wasn't sure that his normal rules applied for me too. The reason I didn't know or understand. Perhaps it had been something I said or did. My working in Rome and Genua had been flawless at least in my opinion but perhaps he had another weighting.

After the day on the beach we had left for Genua and supported the presidential main team for the meeting of the heads of state. It had been very interesting, both to see so many of the most important men and women in the world and to work together with members of seven other agencies, agents from France, Britain, Germany and even Russia. Mostly it had been a … I hesitated in my thoughts. The week hadn't been quiet, no. But at least it had been interesting and mostly nothing special happened aside from the demonstrations. This had been true at least until the very last day. On the 27th of July an incident happened, not about us or the President, but still it overshadowed the meeting and even now had repercussions.

The G8 summit had been overshadowed by riots in Genua after a crackdown by police targeting anti-globalization groups. In one of the clashes between the Italian police and the demonstrators some shots were fired and one of them hit the 23-year-old Carlo Giulani. The firing officer had been acquitted from any wrong-doings but still it left a sour taste behind. As far as I knew the investigations were still going on.

A few days later we had left Genua and after another month of waiting for the result of Baer's assessment of my performance I got the order to join his team. Now I had been with the Air Force One Team for nearly a year and still I was treated as 'on probation'. Some days I felt the urge to cry or yell but that would surely not improve my standing. So I stayed silent, stayed calm and a model of composure, always the 'good girl'. _To protect and serve, that's your motto_.

A bit depressed I stared at the picture I had hung on the wall above the sideboard. The cherry-tree wooden frame I used for the sketch Tamara had given to me one year ago was relatively simple crafted but a nice contrast to the picture. I could stare for hours at the picture, inhaling how Tamara had been able to fetch the mood. And certainly the Caitlin on the picture was much prettier than the real one. I couldn't decide if this difference was the usual artistic flattery, a slight flaw of her sketching skill or simply how she saw me. I only wished I had a photo from her. This wish – beside others – had been the reason that more than once I started a search with her name. But equally often I stopped the search again before I got a result. So I had started to do sketches of her out of my memory. Several blocks with sketches of her on the bridge, eating eyes or on the beach were in the drawer of the sideboard. I even had one picture of her with that ridiculous minikini in her hands. But the most I liked was the one with her eating ice, a long-handled spoon in her hand, the ice melting on her soft red lips. Shortly I shuddered.

_You can't press fate; you have to give it time_. This was so much easier said than done. But I had to trust her, to believe her and to wait.

With a weak smile I touched the case that stood on the sideboard below the sketch. My fingers caressed the edge, stroked slowly above the painting on its lid. The lock still stayed closed. Twenty-four years I had to wait yet before I was allowed to open it. How often had my mind been playing games about the content: some jewelry perhaps or another picture? Some sand from the beach it could be or … as a kind of joke … the case could be empty.

_I'll wait Tamara, I'll wait. But please don't let me wait too long. _

.

_Tamara's flat – Norfolk – 8th of July 2002 (Tamara's POV)_

The ride from Norfolk's city to my flat in Ghent had been swifter than expected. It had helped that I left my bureau two hours earlier than on other days but today I couldn't stand my colleagues anymore. They all were so … sympathetic. And then even Jim, my otherwise so patient Savate trainer, finished the lecture and was unmovable as I wished to go on. Perhaps he had been right. My fist was numb and had started to swell. And I had several bruises on my legs. I only hoped that I didn't hurt him too much … again. Sometimes I lost reality in my training sessions and started to fight in earnest. It had been the reason that only a very few trainers were allowed to spare with me. And obviously today was one of 'those days'.

Opening the door the difference between the bright sun outdoors and the shadowy interior of my flat was stunning as was the difference in temperature. But I liked it this way nowadays. Shutting out the sun I closed the door behind me and slowly went to the kitchen. Shutters and thick curtains veiled the windows completely and even in the darkest nights I used only a few weak lamps. Unpacking my grocery bags I shortly pondered about Rachel. It was only thanks to her that I bought something to eat altogether, that I slept at least a few hours each night.

Rachel had been adamant about what she expected me to do and threatened to move in if I behaved otherwise. The bread slipped my hand and fell on the floor. Not really seeing it I looked down, tried hard to get my composure again. I couldn't stand Rachel or anybody else living with me. So I had to do my best to avoid the situation. Without any energy I filled the refrigerator. As every day in the past 10 weeks I had used any energy to survive the day and nothing was left for the evening. As soon as I left the bureau behind and entered my flat there was only a calm bitterness, numbness in my heart and mind. Even the tears that sometimes swept me away and let my body shudder felt something distant, impersonal, as if my eyes wouldn't belong to me.

With trembling fingers I unbuttoned my shirt as I went to my sleeping room, changing into a well-used tracksuit pants and the long-sleeved shirt I had worn one year ago, the shirt with the nearly unreadable logo of the Bellarmine University, Louisville, Kentucky. For a second a smile crossed my lips. It had been happier times then. For the most part of my life I had lived in the vicinity of Louisville, even went there to finish my Bachelor. It had been a great party with my family, a few classmates and a handful of professors. It had been the last time that I had seen them all. After that I left my home for the first time – apart from some vacations and the three months I had spent for an internship in Dublin at least. The EVMS in Norfolk, the Eastern Virginia Medical School, had been a good choice. The studies had gone well, my mentor was … perfect, no other thing could be said about him. And now I had my master degree and doctor title as it should be.

In two weeks my superior would give his statement about my suitability to visit the program in Quantico. Then all would be perfect. Or at least all could be perfect if I would still think this to be the right future for me. But I had doubts and my superior seemed to sense this. He had given hints about his assessment and I didn't expect it to be positive.

Slowly I lifted the shirt, my hand shaking visibly as I tried to touch the scar. I remembered the expression on Caitlin's face as she realized …

Perhaps I should have told her that there was no 'Mr. Moore', no one waiting at home and warming my bed. That it had been Bryan, my brother-in-law and Rachel's sweet husband, who made a semen donation after I decided to live without a man at my side but not without a child. Perhaps I should have told her but of what avail? With this little lie – nothing else my silence had been – she had been much more relaxed and the day happier.

The sketches I made of her stared silently from their places on the walls, watching me crumble to the ground, tears soaking my shirt and blurring my vision. Slowly I curled on the ground, hugging myself and drawing the darkness over me like a blanket.

She will never know what I had felt in Rome; never know what happened two months later.

She will never know.

.

_**A/N:**_

_I hope you enjoyed this story. I'll go on with a story about season 1 next week. And then there will be Gibbs at last, Tony, Abby, Ducky and a hint of McGee too._


End file.
